06/01/2004 - 1:22 p.m. | Video of guys fucking helpless retarted girls lol!

So! Let's make some connections, huh? I dunno what that means. I figured I'd just start each entry from now on like a retarded business meeting! Let's get some synergy, guys! Arg, what are you even talking about?

I debated in bed for a long time on Sunday before I decided that it was probably wisest if I did go into work, just in case I had drunkenly volunteered to work every frickin' shift in the galaxy. Good thing, I guess, because turns out I did. I didn't shower, but that didn't really matter because Toy and I decided that it was really rather too hard on Sundays to decide whether or not the fine girls were preteens or not. Toy was a little, um, moody that day, but I suppose I would be too if I had to stay in a candy store from open to close. When I got there, he was in a reasonably happy mood (by which I mean he was horny), mumbling comments to himself about the girls that walked by. He explained to me his philosophy of women, which is basically that they because they control the sex, they control us. He had a brilliant plan to turn the tables by withholding sex from them, but he doesn't appear to have the willpower for it.

It was a lot of me up front alone again, which is fine by me, I guess. I discovered if you apply a fine layer of Pixy Stix powder to the bottom of your shoes, they lose just enough traction that you can dance around on the floor like some sort of Beck-wannabe. Which is truly all that I want to be. And then I started converting all of our 10 dollar bills into pirates by way of elaborate touch-ups with permanent markers and white-out. And of course frantic phone calls to the radio station for hopeless stabs at Harry Potter tickets. Toy doesn't understand that one. But then I don't understand why he likes women with such large asses, so to each his own, all right?

You can tell Toy's mood is getting worse as the number of blunts he needs to smoke at the end of the day increases. He started off at one, which is understandable, I guess, but then he disappeared into the back on the phone for a couple hours, and came out a good deal pissier. "Gonna need two now," he says. "Maybe even three." I didn't exactly understand what happened, even though he pretty much talked about it for the rest of the night, but I do know that he was very angry at some guy and was planning on kicking his ass if he saw him. Or rather, he had an S.O.S. out on him. That means "stomp on sight;" it's like a lesson in African American lingo every time I come in. And no, I never ask what stuff means (that would ruin the flow of his rants); it usually just becomes clear through context. Funny thing is, pretty sure he meant the whole S.O.S. thing. I dunno - maybe a little incongruous or something, but the guy who works all he can in a fucking candy store was apparently once upon a time this psycho badass in a gang. Well, so he says, and I am inclined to believe him... because if I didn't and I was wrong, well, think of how he'd have to prove it, right? But anyway, I stayed on his good like I do with so many others - by just listening - and hopefully he'll never have a problem with me. Indeed, I went so far as to go out and buy a pack of cigarettes for him, because he seemed to be hurting for them. Certainly a lot more interesting than some more of my whitebread coworkers (*cough* Buckle!)

I got home and read for a few hours and came out of it in one of my moods. Actually, mood, Boiler Room (Go Vin Diesel!), mood. Right. I dunno if you've caught on, but I've been actually been in one of those for a while: sort of in loner mode lately, and my hours are moving later and later, and I'm getting pinings to go off on pointless quests to God knows where. See, "my moods." I have no idea if it's me the person or me the only child who is doing this, but sometimes I feel like I function far better on my own, even if that involves talking to myself and wandering around grocery stores late at night. It just feels better, you know? So, anyway, I kind of turned everyone down for everything again and then lurched out of the house for a milkshake alone. I also bought a 300 pack of printer paper. Yeah, that makes fucking sense. Sat on the couch with my prescriptions druggies and watched music videos, and wow, Spritz's shower smells soooo good right now! I can't wait for mine! Anyway, it was very, very late (or early) when I got to bed, and sleep was still preceeded by many minutes drawing shit on my legs with permanent marker. Also makes fucking sense. I just think it's neat, is all.

Somehow yeserday is more of a blur than Sunday. Prolly 'cause I did so, so much less. Happy Memorial Day. Shelly, Kyle, and I drove to the mall to search for a car or something - I wasn't really paying attention. Too busy mopping off the grease that was dripping down my face because I hadn't showered in so long. Ick. I hate letting myself go like that. I got back and watched some fucking "Love Hina" for a while (yeah!!) before running out for Thai and then coming back to clean my room. Anything to kill some time. I suppose I should work on cleaning a few of the other rooms a little better. The kitchen has flies right now, and in my mind, that's one step closer to landfill. I went into Efficient Hunter Mode: Using a towel and one of Kyle's books, I would first stun the fucker (With a much higher success rate than when Kyle and Spritz were watching - damn this performance anxiety! Must it affect all aspects of my existence?!) and then smash him or her up good. Don't I feel masculine. And no, I would never skip meeting a bunch of friends at Cowboy Monkey to stay here and play Dungeons & Dragons with my roommates. That is only something nerds would do. But how spectacularly awry this has all gone. And then some scary shit last night, but it turns out I keep my head in a crisis, so yippie for me. At least that's one of us.

OK, time to get ready for work now. God damn, it's me and New Manager Jane for three days in a row. I work from 2:30 to close, and she works until 6. Just me and her. What the hell is going on?